The buzzing nature of sanctuary

I'm working on a trio of poems for an upcoming Writing the Land anthology featuring the Salmon Creek Nature Preserve. My overall theme is sanctuary, and I'll write pieces based on spring, summer, and fall visits. I took a few pictures and videos while walking the paths recently. Mostly I took notes. 

Lots of notes. 

Here's one of the videos:

My phone couldn't pick up the astonishing ballet of creatures which buzzed and hummed through this flowery section. You can hear some of their sounds, but can't see much of the movement.

In contrast to these teeming acres, our home doesn't have a lot of land. Just a front yard and a U-shaped plot around the back of our rectangular house. My beloved has indulged my desire to discover what grows in the back space, and I've let all sorts of wild things bloom over the past months. My primary interest is in providing pollinators with resources, and since we had to decimate the jungle which took over in the years of the house's abandonment, I had no real idea of what had been planted or landed there.

The months of growth have been fascinating. One section of yard waves tall with some flowering thing also spotted at the Nature Preserve. A large bush seemed promising, but the buds which finally emerged are tightly closed, and winged things remain largely uninterested. I'll give it a few more days then pull it out. Bittersweet nightshade is a bumblebee favorite. Yellow jackets enjoy the Rose of Sharon. A sprawling trumpet vine didn't produce, though I'm still hoping.

In the video, you can hear me oohing and ahhing over things you can't see.  And if you could see them, you'd probably think me a bit nuts to be so gaga over insects. 

But I am.

This world is desperate for sanctuary spaces, places where beings can feel safe, be fed, and rest. The scale of need is devastating, and my own ability to make a difference miniscule. The Salmon Creek Nature Preserve provides grasslands for birds which are threatened by our nation's lack. In providing for the bird's need, other creatures flourish. 

Our little yard is a microcosm of that effort. 

It is a nothing thing to do. A lack of action. Non-mowing. Non-seeding. Non-disruption. A letting things be. Something so insignificant in both space and exertion. 

But this minute pushback against the tide of exploitation gifts me with disproportionate moments of peace. I can do little to address the vast wrongness of the world. But for a few moments, a few weeks, a few months, I can offer shelter and space for a few tiny creatures who live in danger. 

And I'm grateful.